


Inside Voices

by flipfloppandas



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Light Dom/sub, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26575591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipfloppandas/pseuds/flipfloppandas
Summary: Sasuke does not need words to speak to her. Likewise, Sakura does not need to speak to get what she wants. Especially not when they want the same thing. That thing being her absolutely ruining him.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke
Comments: 11
Kudos: 77





	Inside Voices

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sure someone out there asked for 3000 words of femdom-esque smut. Here you go.

Sakura had decided that tonight, she would ruin Sasuke.

Maybe it’s because she is angry, because Naruto and Hinata just shared not too long ago that they are expecting a baby and Sasuke still won’t even admit he wants to marry her. Maybe she just misses him, because it has been over a year since she has seen him last and he didn't even have the grace to seem as though he missed her back.

Whatever the reason is, she would ruin him for it.

Sakura has learned long ago that Sasuke’s lack of words did not necessarily mean he had nothing to say. He was quiet, withdrawn, but willing to be heard if someone was just as equally willing to listen the right way. She had learned to speak the language right back at him, and with just a look, told him exactly what she planned to do to him that night.

He had not rejected it. He had not said anything at all. He only followed her once they were finally alone. He was quiet as he trailed behind her, not even his feet making noise as they climbed the stairs to her apartment. He followed her into the bedroom, and gave no indication that he knew what exactly was going to happen to him once the door was closed.

He did, though. He did know.

He turns off the light, like he does every time. She too, like every time, does not mention that she has no need of light from any lamp to see everything she wants to see. He knows it too, but he does it every time. Despite its uselessness it comforts him, she thinks, to imagine he is hidden from her under the cloak of darkness.

More importantly, though, it is an invitation.

The moment the room goes dark, she is on him. She has got her arms around him, her lips on his, her body propped on her toes so she can reach everywhere she wants to reach.

It takes him a moment, every time, to warm up to her. He relaxes in stages: first he is stiff, then—while she’s nipping at his neck—one arm comes up around her, then the tension fades.

Then she has him on the bed.

Despite the necessary warm-up, their clothes disappear relatively quickly. His tunic, his pants, her casual dress—all are thrown and left to fall wherever on the floor they so choose. She does not waste any of her time. To do so would give him the opportunity to overthink, and she has waited too long for him to return to let this night go to waste.

Once he is nude, and her underwear is similarly tossed aside, she immediately reaches for the drawer of her nightstand. She fumbles her hand around inside and pulls out a jar of lubricant. She fumbles around again and pulls out her toy.

It is a lovely thing, her toy is, and well worth the money she spent on it. The harness is pink and perfectly tailored to her hips, the skinnier straps positioned snuggly under the curve of her bottom like twin hugs. The real prize, however, is hooked on the center. 

It juts out from the harness proudly, like it knows how deliciously long and thick it is. Not obnoxiously so, but enough to make even the stubbornest of eyes roll back into their skull from the sheer force of the ecstasy it induces. Its design includes a smooth ridge, indicating where the head stops and the shaft begins, and the color is so flawlessly black it nearly shines in the bit of moonlight that peeks through the clouds and her curtains.

Despite the inclusion of the ridge, it does not look at all realistic, and she likes it that way. She will not deny that there is a certain appeal to the thought that she can drive Sasuke wild, tear him down, utterly _destroy_ him with just her hips and a piece of plastic.

He does not look at her when she slips it on over her feet and up her legs. He watches the wall like there is nothing more interesting in the world than the broken leather pattern of the plaster, certainly not the sight of her own leather sliding up her thighs.

She pulls it up until it is all the way on, until the small nub on the inside of the harness is pushing intently against her clit. The sudden pressure already has a pleasant shivering seeping from between her legs. She turns her mind away from that, however, and focuses on the lubricant.

She prepares her fingers, then she prepares him. He is very sensitive here—only one of her fingers has him breathing hard. Two has him whimpering, and three... well, if he were anyone else, he would be at the point of begging her to fill him with something more.

Since he can be no one other than Sasuke, he simply says her name, “ _Sakura_.”

It is the closest he will ever get to admitting he wants this, like the way his body grinds down on her fore, middle, and index fingers is not already giving away the secret.

Part of her wants to make him beg. She wants to command him to stop looking at the wall and look at her eyes, wants to watch his lips while they form the words, wants to hear him say how badly he wants her to _fuck_ him.

In the end, she does not force it. He is not ready for that. One day, maybe, but certainly not today. Either way, she is content with what she has now. After all, she cannot deny the way her heart flutters, even after all this time, from simply hearing her name coming from his voice.

When she pulls her fingers out of him, he turns over onto his knees and she does not stop him. They are in that quiet period, the one that comes right before the act, when she coats the dildo generously with lubricant and takes her time doing it. Neither speak in that moment, and only the obscene squelching of the wet thermoplastic in her hand fills the room. All the while, Sasuke does not move. He stays kneeling there obediently, almost like a dog with a treat on its nose, waiting for permission to take what it wants.

She nearly shudders at the thought, and for one wild moment, she wants to simply stop altogether. She wants to stop moving her hand and let the room go truly silent. She wants to wait and see just how long Sasuke—with his forearms on the mattress and his ass in the air—will wait for her. She wants to see just how _good_ Sasuke can be.

She fights against the urge. It is tempting, it is so, so, _so_ , tempting, but she does not give in. She carries on because no matter how certain she is that such a game would probably have Sasuke drowning in desire (loathe as he ever would be to admit it), she knows that she cannot do that to him just yet. Not while this is still new, not while it takes everything in him to even do this much.

Even more than that, the reality is that _she_ cannot wait even a second more to have Sasuke a complete mess beneath her. 

Sasuke exhales roughly through his nose as she pushes inside of him. She starts off slow, gentle drags back and forth until he adjusts to the feel of it. It is only when the hips in her hands start pushing back against her that she thrusts in earnest.

Before she began doing this with him, Sakura imagined a lot of things about Sasuke, about what he would be like if she ever got him in her bed. The wonderings felt so improper back then, and yet she was not ashamed enough of them to stop. She wondered what his face would look like when he took her, wondered how his body would look moving against her, wondered what sounds he would make or if he would even make any at all. In her head, she imagined that Sasuke’s stoicism carried over even in the throes of passion. She imagined that he would not even blush—in fact, she would have been surprised if he even _could_ blush.

Even more so than that, in all her imaginings of sex with Sasuke, she always assumed he would be the quiet type.

She did not think it was that far-fetched of an assumption. From what she had heard from other women, it's not unusual for men to be quiet, and for someone like Sasuke, who would hardly speak even on a good day, who could dominate a room without even opening his mouth, who could tell her a whole story just by looking at her with a particular gleam in his eyes, it seemed most likely he would be that way too.

In actuality, Sasuke is loud.

He is loud even when he is the one fucking her, his moans mixing with hers like liquor with every thrust of his hips. When she is inside him, he is even more so. He is not so loud that he's obnoxious (and yes, she is still distantly astonished that she's come to the point where she can even consider _anything_ about Sasuke being obnoxious), but loud enough to make her blood burn deliciously each and every time. He is loud enough that she’ll never do this outside, no matter how heated the idea makes her, because she won’t ever risk anyone else hearing the noises he makes only for her.

And oh, are the noises sweet. Every moan sounds like her lovely toy bullied it out of him. The pillow his face is buried in does little to mask the choked cries filling the air alongside the creak of her mattress. She can see his hands gathering fistfuls of her blankets, the only anchor he has keeping him from falling over the edge.

She would have loved Sasuke no matter what kind of man he would have been between her sheets, but she will not deny that she loves that the one she was blessed with is so lusciously precious.

“You’re so perfect like this, Sasuke,” she cannot help but say. “You’re so perfect for me.”

He says nothing back, but he never does. As freely as he gives his moans, he holds his words tightly to himself, like speaking would make him too complacent, too wanting of this.

The way he rolls his hips back against hers, the movements almost frenzied in their desperation, makes her think he has a funny way of showing his reluctance.

She holds his hips still, and he does not fight her, simply falls still, and takes what she gives him. She has wondered before what it would be like to really manhandle him, to truly have all the control. Even if he would be willing to try it, she would have to talk to him about things like 'boundaries' and 'safe words' and he would probably sooner leave the village again than participate in any conversation like that.

Even so, that does not mean she cannot take baby steps.

It is a risk, but she pulls outs and promptly rolls him onto his back.

He blinks wide eyes up at her. His face is the most emotive she has seen it be in a long, long time. Astonishment has taken over his features, just as a bright blush has taken over his cheeks. He looks almost like a stranger this way, because surely the Sasuke she has chased after for so long could not possibly look so adorable and ravished all at once. The Sasuke she had known could not have possibly been capable of making a face that just begged to be defiled even more.

"Shh," she hushes, before the surprise can fade into something less than pleasant. She pushes forward, and his thighs dutifully spread to accommodate her hips. He is taller than her, but with his legs kicked up and her hands on the insides of his knees holding him open, the difference does not matter. She moves so quickly that it does not even dawn on him to look away as she lines up.

Despite the look on his face, he opens like a flower beneath her when she pushes back inside. She sees it all: the way his lashes flutter, the way his mouth spreads around his sigh, the way his neck arches just the slightest on her pillow. She thrusts again and again and by then Sasuke has turned his face as far to the side as it will go but she still watches it all. He cannot get away from her, not like this. He is spread out bare before her, an absolute feast for her eyes.

Sasuke is handsome, she will be the first to say that, and he has been all his life. He is handsome no matter the day, no matter his mood, no matter the color of his eyes. Right now, though, he can only be described as _beautiful_. He truly is a work of art this way. He is like a painting: her rumpled bed—the background, his wanton body—the focal point, and she—the viewer. What she would give to have a camera right now! She would have to snap at least a million shots to make sure she did not miss even a moment. She thinks about what his face would look like _then_ , knowing all of his carnality was being immortalized and yet still letting her do it—

Not now, she reminds herself. She has only just managed to get him on his back. Everything else will fall into place, one step at a time.

" _Sa... Sakura..._ "

"Hmm?" she says, doing her best to hide her shock at hearing his voice at a time like this.

"... _Harder_ ," he says, looking for all the world like a part of himself is being stolen away just by saying that one word.

When she takes a second too long to react, he grits out, "Do it _harder_ ,” sounding like he wanted it to be a demand, but they both knew it was really just a most desperate plea.

She feels several things in that moment—pride and burning desire warring for first place. She does what he asks, until she is moving neither too slow nor too fast, but with a sharpness to her hips that was not there before.

The pace undoes him. His eyes roll back in his head and his moaning has reached that special height it reaches only when his mind has gone. His legs spread wider open without her prompting them too. His entire body pushes back against her as much as he can, and his toes are curling where they sway in the air.

He has given in now, all his fight fleeing him and leaving only this lewd, amorous creature in its place. He has surrendered so greatly that when she takes his hand and wraps it around his cock, he does not even think to resist. Instead, he instantly starts stroking himself, and she rewards him with thrusts so hard that she knows he will still be feeling them for many hours to come.

He does not last long after that. Only a few more hastened jerks of his hand have him coming all over his abdomen. She fucks him through it, until his hand falls away and the last of his tremors have faded.

She barely has time to pull out when he is suddenly reaching for her. Then she is on her back beneath him. His hand slides the harness down to her knees, and then his fingers find her clit. His fingers are too rough, but she likes it rough, and suddenly she is the one moaning, loud and without shame.

Her eyes are closed, but she can still feel his eyes on her. He watches her intently, with the look that she still does not know the meaning of while he brings her to her peak. He only has to touch her for a few seconds before it is too much. Her orgasm has her mind blanking, body hairs standing, and her hips jerking just as much as his did on her toy.

They spend the aftermath holding each other. The hand he has on her back does not rub loving circles in her skin, but it is firm and steady around her. The skin of his chest is warm and soft beneath her head, and the beating of his heart and the minute sound of his breath passing in and out of his lips nearly soothes her to sleep.

She fights against it though. There had been a purpose to her ruining him, after all. She had questions to ask and answers to seek. They were not easy questions, but never does she feel more confident than in the moments after she has affirmed that he is _hers_.

“Are you leaving again?” is what comes when she can wait no longer.

“Yes,” he tells her.

“Can I come with you?” She asks.

There are only two answers. If not a resounding, _‘no’_ then...

“I can’t stop you,” he says.

She does not fight the smile that takes over her lips. He says nothing about it, even though she knows he can feel it against his skin. Perhaps it is pathetic of her to be elated by such news, but she is. She is many things in that moment, happy, grateful, excited...

... even playful.

Slyly, she holds up the strap-on. The fake cock points up obscenely in the air. “I’m bringing this with me.”

He frowns at her, and just the slightest hint of pink seeps back into his cheeks. She cannot help but to laugh, and notes that despite his reaction, he has spoken no objections.

Before she lets sleep take her, she remembers that she has not kissed him once since the start. She does that then, and all the things even his eyes don’t say, she hears through the press of his lips.

The End


End file.
